Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
He trots at my side, his scrubby black fur chilly from the outside air, as I carry the girl towards my bed and lay her down there. The moment her head hits the pillow, she lets out a groan, a little noise that hitches at the back of her throat, as though she is not quite willing for me to put distance between us quite yet. I pause in the doorway, glancing back at the reddish hair framing her soft features, the slight part in her full lips. Strange, having a woman in my bed after so long...
I push the thought aside as I go to warm a kettle on the stove, using the rusty poker to stir some of the smouldering ashes as I toss a handful of mint leaves into the water. Might not be the best she’s ever had, but it sure as hell beats lying out there in the cold waiting for the animals to find her.
By the time I have decanted a little into the single wooden cup I keep in the cabin, her eyes have fluttered open – when she sees me standing in the doorway, she sits bolt-upright, panic widening her eyes.
"Where am I?”
"Nowhere you have to worry about," I tell her, and I hand her the cup. "Here. Have this. It’ll warm you up."
She stares down at the cup for a moment and I stoop by her side, pulling her leg towards me so I can examine the wound. I have a couple of bandages and poultices that Anna used to keep scattered around the house – not much, but, when I pull them out, the look on her face tells me that it’s far from what she expected.
"What are those?” she asks, drawing her leg away from me as I go to apply one of the soaked rags to her leg. I ignore her, and pull her leg out once more – and notice, for the first time, how strange the clothes she is wearing happen to be. She’s wearing a pair of cropped trousers, or something like it, in a thick, soft white fabric scored with orange marks. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, not can I exactly picture why a girl would want to be walked around in something so brazen, not least at this time of year...
Once I have cleaned her up, she tugs the covers up over herself, like she has noticed me staring a little too hard at her clothes. Crossing her arm over her chest, she regards me warily, clearly not entirely sure what to make of me.
"I need to go-"
"You need to keep the weight off that leg," I tell her, as I straighten up. Woodrow is pacing in the doorway, watching her, clearly still not convinced of her presence.
"No, I can walk, I-"
She goes to extend her leg, but then, she winces, clearly thinking better of it.
"Crap," she mutters, and the sudden curse brings a grin to my face. I didn’t think a girl as sweet as her would have words so sharp, but then, there’s a lot about her that doesn’t make sense.
"Drink your tea," I tell her, nodding towards the cup. "I’ll come check on you later, alright?”
She looks as though she is going to protest again, but she thinks better of it, wrapping her delicate fingers around the cup as Woodrow trots at my heels.
"Alright," she murmurs, resigned to whatever fate has brought her here. And, as I go to step out of the room, I catch a scent of it again – the smell of her, something in the air that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the world around me.
As though she is from a different place entirely.
Or maybe even a different time.
CHAPTER 3
Cora
When I wake, it takes me a moment to remember where I am.
I smell the wood of the cabin first, then the lingering scent of the mint tea he brought me, along with the smoky scent of what could be a fireplace nearby. My eyelids flicker and I lift my head to look around – and, just like that, it all comes flooding back to me.
I am in that cabin. In this bed. This bed that looks as though it belongs in a museum, with the heavy patchwork quilt and the simple, uneven frame. A window beside me looks to have been hewn out of the wood, rather than carefully placed there by a workman – the curtains dangle a little on the short side, letting through a shaft of sunlight from beyond.
Easing myself up on my forearms so as not to put too much pressure on my leg, I peer out of the window. As far as I can tell, I am still in the same Colorado woods I had been when I took that fall. The wound on my leg throbs, even now, but he’s dressed it pretty well, even if he’s used what looks to be a few rags to keep me from bleeding all over his bed. It’ll be a while before I can walk comfortably on it again, which means I’m not going to have much choice but to stay here...